The Cousins(41)

“One of these days you’re going to explain how and where you acquired your mad skills,” I say as Jonah places his cue in a wall rack. I mean it as a compliment, but the confident smirk drops from his face like I just wiped an eraser across it.

Before I can apologize—for what, I don’t even know—the Asteroids’ lead singer leans into his microphone. He has the same Gull Cove townie look about him as the guy Jonah just beat: deeply tanned, weather-beaten, and older than he probably is. “Evening, all, and thanks for coming out,” he says. “We’re just about done for the night, but before we take off, we’ll be switching things up a little. Our guitarist, who’s usually a stay-in-the-shadows kind of guy, has asked if he can close things out with his favorite song. So please give it up for Chaz!”

“Let’s go listen,” I say to Jonah, starting for the table where Aubrey, Efram, and Brittany are still sitting. He follows me, so closely that when I suddenly turn, I nearly bump into him. I should probably back up, but I don’t. “Oh! One more thing. I was supposed to find out whether or not you have a girlfriend.” My voice comes out breathier than I’d intended, and I try to inject a more businesslike tone when I add, “For Brittany.”

Jonah stares at me for a beat, brown eyes sparkling with reflected light from the stage. “No,” he says. “I don’t have a girlfriend. But I’m not interested in Brittany.”

My face is way too hot. “All right. Noted,” I say, turning before he can pick up on my blush. We reach the table just as Chaz steps into center stage, blinking like he’s not quite sure how he got there. Even from this distance he looks rough, and I have no problem believing he’s still on that days-long bender everyone at Gull Cove Resort keeps gossiping about.



I slip back onto my stool, avoiding Brittany’s gaze. Chaz mumbles, “This one’s for my family,” his voice crackling against the mic, and strums a familiar chord. The band kicks in seconds later, and Aubrey straightens in her seat.

“Is that—” she starts.

“Weezer,” Brittany says. “?‘Africa.’?”

“Not originally.” Efram leans forward. “Toto did it first. This band is all about the eighties, remember?” He frowns a little. “This song is really…a product of its time, isn’t it? Like, they’d probably never been to Africa, but they decided to sing about it anyway. In a supremely cringey way.”

He’s right, but that’s not what I’m thinking about as I try to catch Aubrey’s eye. Was this song as much a part of her childhood as mine, or did Uncle Adam not share this particular bit of Story lore? Has she seen the video of my mother, her father, and their brothers, singing this song at the top of their lungs when they were kids?

Aubrey is staring intently at the stage, so I shift my gaze from her to Chaz. He tilts his head and closes his eyes as he sings the chorus and— Ohhhh.

Oh my God.

I’m on my feet in an instant, shouldering my way through the crowd until I’m almost at the front of the stage. I’ve been closer to Chaz in The Sevens than I am here, but I can see him clearly beneath the bright lights of the stage.

I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.

As soon as the song finishes to loud applause, Chaz drops his guitar onto the stage and lifts one hand in the air, signaling to the bartender as he walks offstage. I turn and head for the bar, too, but get stuck behind a group of guys my age. I have to start breathing through my mouth when the smell of too many competing colognes overpowers me.



“Hey, Milly, how’s it going?” Reid Chilton says, smiling widely as I crane my neck to see past him. Chaz looks slightly panicked, but also determined. Like he just realized he needs to escape, but isn’t willing to leave without a drink in hand.

“Great, but I can’t talk right now,” I say shortly, pushing between him and another boy in a blue polo shirt. The second boy laughs as I pass.

“Damn, Reid. She’s not feeling you at all.”

I keep weaving through the crowd until I’m close enough to grab hold of Chaz’s sleeve. I tug hard, and he turns. The eyes that meet mine are so familiar that I’m annoyed with myself all over again for not seeing it sooner. Conversation buzzes loudly around us but I still lower my voice, bringing my lips close to his ear so he can hear me.

“Hey, Uncle Archer,” I say. My mother’s youngest brother’s eyes widen in alarm as I add, “Are you the one who brought us here?”





“I’m nowhere near drunk enough for this conversation,” Uncle Archer mutters, running an unsteady hand over his mouth.

“Oh yes, you are,” the band’s lead singer says grimly. We’re in his house now—or, more accurately, the bungalow behind his house where Uncle Archer lives. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside it’s surprisingly large and clean.

The singer’s name is Rob Valentine, he told us back at Dunes. He runs a painting business on the island, and used to be a friend of Uncle Archer’s in high school. Without him, Uncle Archer probably would’ve escaped through the back door of Dunes as soon as Milly used his real name. “Come on,” Rob said as he half wrestled Uncle Archer toward a battered Honda SUV in the parking lot. Milly, Jonah, and I trailed behind them, too shell-shocked to do anything except watch. “No more hiding. Tell the kids what’s going on.”